


Photographic Negative

by Kalael



Series: Hold your hand 'til the colors fade [3]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Goldenfrost Week, M/M, Reincarnation AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 07:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalael/pseuds/Kalael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kozmotis is the sort of man that everyone knows, not because he’s friendly or outgoing but because he has a very set routine.  Jack had realized this long ago and he...isn’t <em>stalking</em>, exactly, he just happens to strategically place himself in certain places at certain times of the day to make sure he sees Kozmotis.</p><p> </p><p>  <em>Monday Prompt: Memories</em><br/>(Make a new memory, or remember times past)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Photographic Negative

Jack has always had great admiration for those who can play the piano. People often tell him that he has the fingers of a pianist, long and dextrous, but he doesn’t have the mind of a musician. He isn’t focused, he hates reading sheet music, and sitting in one place for too long drives him crazy. His mother had learned quickly that trying to teach her unruly son any sort of musical skill would only end in disaster. But as much as Jack complained as a child, he does love watching others play. He raises his camera and holds his breath as the shutter clicks during a pause in the music. The player doesn’t notice.

Kozmotis is the sort of man that everyone knows, not because he’s friendly or outgoing but because he has a very set routine. Jack had realized this long ago and he...isn’t _stalking_ , exactly, he just happens to strategically place himself in certain places at certain times of the day to make sure he sees Kozmotis. He never engages contact, preferring to keep a safe distance, and this is the first time he’s intentionally brought his camera. Jack just knows that he needs a photograph of Kozmotis playing the piano. He needs it for his project.

The pub is mostly empty at this time of the day but Kozmotis always comes here when no one is around. Jack knows because he asked the owner, who had responded in a thick Russian accent that ‘Koz likes to be alone when he plays’. Jack hadn’t pried, knowing that it wouldn’t be taken to very kindly. He doesn’t want to scare Kozmotis, or make him uncomfortable. He just needs to complete the project.

Kozmotis goes to the bar to get a drink and Jack quietly packs his camera to leave, but before he can exit he feels a heavy hand settle on his shoulder.

“You’ve been following me for quite some time, boy. I don’t appreciate that, and I certainly don’t like that you have been taking pictures of me here.” Jack swallows and turns to look at Kozmotis, his expression properly ashamed. Kozmotis's glare is stony and he can't help but shrink away from those piercing eyes.

“Uh...sorry. I just...yeah, this looks bad. I’m sorry, I really try not to be a bother, and I promise that these are the only pictures I’ve taken.” Jack babbles, trying to say something makes sense. The way Kozmotis's face only harden makes Jack cringe.

“You’re not denying that you’re stalking me? I could have you arrested.” Kozmotis says. His fingers tighten around Jack's shoulder when Jack tries to pull away.

“It’s not really stalking! I just, um...fuck, okay, you’re going to think I’m insane no matter what. Can I just, look, can we meet tomorrow? Wherever you want to, whenever, I just don’t...I don’t have the things that I need with me. To explain, that is.” Kozmotis continues to stare at him for a long time, not saying a word. Jack gives him a nervous smile. “I promise I’m not a serial killer? Do I even look like I could take down a guy your size?”

“You hardly look like you can support even your own weight, so I suppose I’ll just have to take your word. Meet me here tomorrow, same time. You’d better show up or I can promise you that I will hunt you down and the police will be involved.” Despite the jibe at his appearance Jack has to hold back a sigh of relief when Kozmotis releases his shoulder.

“Um. Great. Yeah, I’ll be here. Bye!” Before anything else can be said, Jack bolts out the door and hurries down the street. He'd fucked up big time but maybe he can make this work. He'd worked too hard for the project to fail now.

The next day he trudges to the pub, where he finds that he is the first to arrive. The weird Russian bartender waves at him and brings him some water, but otherwise Jack is left to his own devices. He plays with the plain black binder he'd set on the table first thing after sitting down, and as time goes by Jack starts to wonder if Kozmotis had just set this up to fool him or something. Just as he is about to pack up and leave, Kozmotis strolls through the door as if he owns the place and sits down across from Jack.

"I would apologize for being late but seeing as I still don't like you I see no reason to." He says coldly as he removes his coat.

"Fair enough. Here you go." Jack shoves the binder over to Kozmotis, who opens it as carefully as one might snip the wires of a bomb. Jack waits patiently as Kozmotis flips through the pages, his expression becoming one of disbelief.

“You photoshopped these.” He says flatly, shoving the binder away. Jack shakes his head.

“I didn’t. Look, I have the negatives for some of these." He pulls out a ragged envelope and gives it to Koz, who dumps the content into his hands and holds each negative strip up to the light. 

"I think you need to explain." Kozmotis murmurs. He looks a bit queasy, not that Jack can blame him.

"A few years ago, I found these photographs at a flea market. I was amazed to see, well, myself in them. I bought them because I thought it was funny, and a little bit strange. But then I saw you one day, just right out of the fucking blue. I was walking through the park, taking some shots with my new camera, and there you were. Strolling across the bridge and looking exactly like the man in the photos. These two men, they’re long dead. But they are identical to us, and you can’t ignore that.” Jack points to the faces in one photo, his eyes fixed onto Kozmotis'. Kozmotis shifts uneasily under his gaze, uncomfortable with Jack's sudden confidence.

“You think there’s some meaning behind this.” He says quietly. Jack nods and flips the page in the binder to another set of photos.

“It sure as hell can’t be a coincidence. I didn’t know how to broach the topic, though. Sorry I scared you, I really didn’t know what to do.” He gives Kozmotis an apologetic smile that Kozmotis can't help but accept.

“I still happen to think you’re insane, you just have a slightly better reason for being insane.” He announces. Jack squawks in protest and shoves the binder into Kozmotis's sternum.

“Okay, just look at these photos. Look at them and tell me you don’t feel something.”

Kozmotis looks them over more carefully, feeling apprehensive with Jack watching him so closely. But as he moves to each different page, he can’t help but be curious. There are only twenty three photos in all, and they’re obviously old. The edges are worn and some of them are so damaged that only the faces can be seen, but they’re unmistakably the faces of Kozmotis and Jack.

“It’s astonishing.” Kozmotis says after a moment. Jack sets his glass of water aside and smiles a bit more fully.

“Right? It’s why I was following you. Sorry again, by the way.” Kozmotis waves his hand as if to say all is forgiven, his eyes still focused on the pictures.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Just...let me look at these a bit longer.” He’s having trouble believing it, though the proof is in front of him. The man with white hair and freckles who looks like Jack, the man with dark hair and the prominent nose...it’s such an unlikely thing. Part of him is still skeptical, but when he sneaks a glance at Jack he sees how earnest the man is.

“You can take them home with you, so long as you promise to give them back.” Jack tells him, his voice soft. Kozmotis shuts the binder and runs his hand over the cover almost longingly.

“Really? How do you know I won’t burn them?” He asks. Jack laughs and shakes his head as he begins to gather the rest of his things.

“You wouldn’t. You’re curious too, I know it. We’ll just agree to meet again sometime so you can hand them back to me, alright? Same time and place next week?” Kozmotis thinks on it, then cracks a small smile.

“You’re sure I can’t just return them to you when I catch you stalking me?” He teases, and Jack gives an awkward little smile in return.

“Now that I’ve been able to show you the photos, I won’t be following you anymore. I’m behind on some work, I’ve got an exhibition going up in two days and I need to get everything framed and ready to hang. You won’t be seeing me unless it’s at 7am at Starbucks.” He wishes the bartender goodbye and leaves Kozmotis in the pub with the old photos and some new things to ponder.

The next morning, Kozmotis goes to Starbucks at 7am and finds Jack ordering himself a dirty chai latte with four espresso shots. Shaking his head, he gently elbows Jack aside and orders himself an Earl Grey before paying for both of the drinks.

The smile Jack gives him is as blinding as the one in the photographs.

Getting to know Jack is like running into an old friend he hasn't seen in years. Everything he learns about Jack feels like knowledge he'd simply forgotten and it's all coming back to him now. The way Jack's hair looks in the early morning sunlight at the coffeeshop, the way Jack's fingers curl around his camera, the hang of his clothing off his thin frame and his infectious laughter. The photos seem less and less like photoshopped fakes and more like evidence of a past life, one that Kozmotis had shared with Jack. It's entirely absurd, but in a way it makes sense. A few weeks go by, and then months, and the two of them have settled into a comfortable companionship marked by late dinners and early morning coffees. Jack opens a new exhibit at a local gallery and asks Kozmotis to attend as his date.

"Just as friends, if anything else makes you uncomfortable." Jack tells him with forced nonchalance. Kozmotis wants to say there's no problem, that they should make it a proper date, but his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth and he can't do anything but nod and watch Jack leave with a disappointed slouch in his shoulders. They do attend the gallery opening together, dressed in business casual clothes and Jack clinging to Kozmotis’ elbow as he shows him the photos for the exhibit.

It’s breathtaking, in a way that makes Kozmotis feel melancholy and broken for some reason that he can’t explain. It’s all of the old photos that Jack had shown him, newly developed from the negatives, and those are paired with new photos that Jack had taken of Kozmotis and a few self-portraits of Jack himself. It’s an incredibly personal thing, and although Jack mentions that he won’t be receiving good reviews, Kozmotis has to fight off the urge to kiss him then and there.

Instead he drops Jack off at his apartment, and tells him they shouldn’t see one another anymore.

“But why?” Jack demands, his hands clenched into fists on the doorframe. “I thought we were friends! We’re connected, don’t you see?”

“It’s not healthy for you to put so much focus on some old photos of two people who just happen to look like us!” Kozmotis snaps back. Jack falters, obviously hurt.

“It’s more than just the photographs and you know it.” He murmurs. Kozmotis shakes his head, turns away.

He can’t admit that the truth is he’s just frightened, that he doesn’t know how to handle the dreams he’s been having, that he can’t explain the bone deep ache in his body that only grows the longer he’s around Jack. It’s easier to leave, to run away.

So he leaves, and Jack doesn’t follow.

Years later, when he remembers every past life and the torment of loss in each one, Kozmotis looks up Jack Frost to see if anything can be mended. All he finds is a collection of photographs, and a will leaving them all to him.


End file.
